


Scarlet

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is evident- they know how this will end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarlet

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by In This Moment's "Scarlet"- the ideal Batman/Joker song in my opinion. I really listened to the song today and just had to do something quick to go with it. Plus, I really wasn't feeling anything overly happy for once. The lyrics are italicized, and you can listen to the song here: http://www.youtube.com/attribution_link?a=3PCes5a-63NO6pta1Rc6jw&u=/watch?v=BNMX9d8RLl4&feature=share

_You, you’re everything I want. And I, I’m everything you need._

The fist connected with his gut, sent him into a fit of choked giggles as he reeled back, falling, body connecting with the hard concrete roof of the old building. His shoulders hit the pavement as the Bat slammed down onto him, teeth gritted, eyes dark and wild. The Joker pushed up against him, raised his upper body and loomed close as hands clutched at his wrists, pushed him back down so Batman nearly lay on top of him- blood rushing hot through veins, against skin that would bruise and blossom.

_This night is cutting into me. You tie me down, you watch me bleed- and we risk everything tonight._

The Joker waited for another punch- craved it, needed it, wanted it like a lover’s caress. Some nights it was all he could get, when the rage was too much, the will too strong.

But it didn’t come. The man rested over him- breathing, that was all, and staring down into those too green eyes. His mouth was a firm line, no smile, but those eyes searched and delved, and it was one of _those_ nights when he was willing to accept what they were-

Just two twisted men, two souls suffocating in the black of night.

_I, I am the misery you crave. And you, you are my faithful enemy._

The Bat’s mouth always yielded when his tongue asked- always tasted somewhat minty, always asked for more once he’d had a taste. Tonight was no different. He kept the Joker pinned, physically he had control- but the Joker’s mouth controlled the pace, his lips soft beneath the paint. He was the punishment his Bat needed, he knew- for whatever things the man had done in his life to think he deserved hell. He was what the man craved, knew it from their first moonlit dance, knew it until the day he would die. The truth was in his bones.

And he was the Joker’s ever faithful counterpart- destined to destroy him and yet be destroyed- destined to dance knowing it meant his own breaking.

_This hunger seems to feed on me. A sacred sin, a dying breed- and we risk everything._

Batman finally released his wrists- one hand tangling in his green curls, the other running along the side of his body. The Joker’s arms encircled his shoulders, clung to the cape loosely as the heat coiled into a slick knot in his belly. A familiar heat, one only the Bat ever caused in him. A shiver ran down him as his counterpart bit his lower lip- as the hand in his hair came down and traced a painted scar. He moaned, turning into a whimper as the light petting continued, his body pushing up as it had countless times before.

Through mostly closed eyes and thick lashes, the Joker saw Batman’s eyes were closed, peaceful for just a moment. A risk, considering who was beneath him- but it didn’t matter. Those hands stayed entangled with his cape- if they didn’t, the Joker may fall off the edge of the Earth.

_They can never know just what we’ve done. They can never know just what we’ve done. They will never know all the blood we’ve shed, the scarlet cross we bear until the bitter end. And they, they can never know just what we’ve done._

The Joker was always the first to lose his clothing. His jacket and vest and shirt always managed to slide or rip off him, followed by his pants and shoes until he was pale and naked, the Bat still dark and clothed and deadly. But that was okay- the Joker could handle appearing vulnerable so Batman could appear in control- because in the end, he always made his Bat realize just how undone he really was.

Lips traced scars on his chest and abdomen- worshiped them, even though those ever hands that now gripped his hips had placed them there, had created most of the masterpiece. More blood had been exchanged- taken between the two than they would ever know, than the city would ever see. Blood they had taken themselves in the rage of realizing just how badly they _needed_ each other.

No one could ever know.

_Nothing good will come of this. I’m screaming out with my last aching breath._

Joker cried out at the first thrust- he always did, because there was always a mix of primal need, chaotic bonding between the two coupled with a sweet sort of pain that reminded him he was alive, he was breathing, he was needing and clutching and being and opening and flowing. His Bat was pulling him up and holding him wordlessly- breaths rapid and uneven- against his sharp remaining armor. Arms encircled him as the Joker turned up for a kiss, this time giving way to the vigilante, feeling so utterly open and exposed.

_I’ll be yours until my dying day, but I can never see you._

His fingers twitched along the broad shoulders, the neck, the edges of the cowl. Wanted it, needed it, deserved to see the face beneath- but it would be a mask too. A foreign face that didn’t mean anything- a face that didn’t hold love for him the way this masked one did. So those fingers twitched and fell away- the tips of one hand kissed on their descent.

He had to close those greens eyes to keep himself composed- he’d die here for this. He’d split in two or fall from the roof or wring his own neck for those dark eyes and the way he felt _complete_ with his Bat inside him. It was terrifying. It was the closest to love of any sort he’d ever want to know.

_We, we knew how this would end. And we knew we’d die before we lived. But I’ll never let you go. I’ll never let you go._

The Joker was pulled up closer to Batman, and arms around his shoulders, clutching the cape now for dear life, he moaned and cried out and said whatever was asked of him- whatever the Bat needed to here. Some nights it was how terrible he was- how he destroyed the city. Some nights it was soft words, sweet nothings and bitter somethings. Some nights, it was how he could never exist, that this was just a dream, and soon, soon it would be over.

Tonight, it was something different. The truth was all his Bat had asked, and the words that flowed melded all his passion induced confessions together. He was the cause of the Bat’s plummet and pain and misery- he was what he craved. He loved him, he needed him, he desired and devoured him and held him deep inside where no one else could have him.

But soon, soon they’d wake up- because this was not life, no matter how much they lived it. They were dead in a dying city, buried by their own dementia.

_They will never know all the blood we shed, the scarlet cross we bear until the bitter ener. And they, they can never know just what we’ve done. I will never let you go. They can never know just what we’ve done. I will never let you go._

The Joker buried his face in the crook of his Bat’s neck as he tumbled over the edge- felt the man around him quaking as well. And when he turned to kiss the jawline he was allowed, it was wet with salt. Dark eyes were closed, mouth set in a tight line, but the Joker knew the taste of sorrow, of tears and salt, and lapped at them, kissed and licked and accepted the misery as his burden now. He swallowed it down and kept it, even as that mouth turned to meet him, whispered into him the truth of their haunted affair.

They were loved. They were doomed. This was a world only the two of them shared- and when it shattered, they were destined to follow, because no one would understand, be able to console them at the lose of their perfect self- the one seething, trembling mass of desire and perfect and corruption and blood they were.

Someday, when it did end, it would be them, and not the world. They’d break the pattern of the dance- break rules and promises, and end themselves and each other, before someone else touched what was thiers- before it was stained. The Joker knew- had known for a long time, his death lie in those hands, the fingers that knew him and his scars, the palms he kissed. It had taken time, but the Bat knew too- his death was painted and smiling, and that was alright. It was all alright now, because it would be them that did it, in the end.

_We knew how this would end._


End file.
